


Could do Better

by Lurker55



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:00:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24140977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lurker55/pseuds/Lurker55
Summary: He was their friend... and he betrayed them.But is it still betrayal if he never accepted it as such?
Kudos: 3





	Could do Better

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Marauder's Plan](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085412) by [CatsAreCool (Rachel500)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rachel500/pseuds/CatsAreCool). 



> Takes place before the series starts with the last section being the last of him.
> 
> This is a little combination of inspirations from a post I saw on Pinterest comparing the Marauders to the four elements and claiming Peter would have been Water- easily turned but more powerful than you realize, and from a moment in the story A Marauder's Plan by catsarecool where Sirius Black has a moment to remember that the teachers would put 'could do better' on Wormtail's essays. It's canon-compliant as far as I can tell, just some thoughts I had late at night and decided to write out instead of sleeping or working on my other story I should really be posting too. :)

_Could do better._

That was what his father had said when Peter accidentally dropped a glass he was supposed to be putting on the table.

Peter Pettigrew was four years old.

Four years, and not good enough. Not good enough of a son for his father’s liking, but it wasn’t his fault. No, it was his mother’s. That’s what his father said at least.

And every time that Peter saw a fresh bruise on her face ( _the only place she couldn’t cover to hide the marks_ ) he would remember. He would remember that he was supposed to be brave, strong, noble, fierce, and a mark of pride for his father. 

That was what sons were for.

But since he wasn’t showing a special gift for any sort of magic, no special traits his father could boast about. He wasn’t anything special or a child you would take any notice of.

He did try. 

He did try for his mother’s sake, for the sake of the woman who loved him and never complained about her husband’s actions. The woman who acknowledged that it was her fault that Peter wasn’t good enough for him. 

Peter loved her enough to try to do better.

~*~

_Could do better._

That was the first comment written on his transfiguration homework by his professor.

Peter Pettigrew was eleven years old.

Eleven years, and not good enough. Good enough to make it into Gryffindor, the house of the brave, just like his father wanted, but not as good as James Potter or Sirius Black. That’s what his teachers said at least.

Every time he noticed them laughing over their Os and congratulating each other, he remembered. They became his standards. After all, if all the teachers knew that they were the prodigies of Gryffindor and he managed to become just as good or even better than them, his father would be able to be proud of him and wouldn’t have to hurt his mother anymore. 

There would be no more bruises on her face. She would be able to smile at him without that tired gaze and would thank him for being the best son she could have ever had.

He did try.

But the best he would ever get was an Exceeds Expectations.

He watched James and Sirius, tried to copy what they did, tried to make magic work for him like it did for them. 

It never did.

But…

They noticed him.

They didn’t laugh at him.

They actually stepped in when a group of Slytherins took offence at him ( _he hadn’t realized they were Slytherins at the time. He was just lost and trying to find his way_ ). 

They didn’t mock him when he asked them how they got so good at magic. Sure, they smirked at him, but they also helped him with some of the practical homework. They even roped Remus Lupin ( _shy, uncertain, and all with bruises and cuts all too similar to the ones his mother had_ ) into helping with the theoretical side.

Peter would try to do better, not just for his mother’s sake now, but also so he wouldn’t let down his roommates ( _his friends? Were they friends?_ ) who took the time to treat him like he could be worth something good.

~*~

_Could do better._

That was the first thing he realized when James and Sirius decided to talk to him about Remus’ “furry little problem”.

Peter Pettigrew was twelve years old.

Twelve years old and not good enough. Good enough to realize that Remus was being hurt and gaining new wounds every time he had “gone home to visit his mother”, but not as good as James or Sirius who had realized that Remus wasn’t even leaving Hogwarts when he was being injured. That’s what he realized at least.

He had thought Remus was stronger, better than him and had been going home to stop his father from putting more bruises on his mother. He hadn’t realized the time of the month it happened at. Hadn’t noticed the lunar cycle. Hadn’t connected the full moon to the fresh scars. Hadn’t thought of how he could possibly be of any help to his roommate ( _friend?_ ). Hadn’t put in the study to discover that becoming an animagi could give Remus relief from his pain and loneliness.

He did try.

But it was Sirius who found the key to the transformation. 

It was James who coached him patiently, so patiently, through his transfiguration homework. It was Sirius who always seemed to know when he was feeling discouraged and uncertain of his own abilities. They were there for him and helped him to plan and prepare for this advanced piece of magic he had never considered studying and would doubtlessly never be able to accomplish on his own.

How they managed to keep it a secret from Remus, he would never know.

But they did. 

The four of them would study together for classes, and during every full moon while Remus was all alone with his change ( _being alone and helpless was something he knew only too well_ ) the three other boys would devote themselves to study the animagus transformation.

None of them would sleep those nights. If Remus couldn’t, neither would they. Even when it was so hard to stay awake in classes. Even when his bed looked so warm and inviting during the cold nights.

Peter would try to do better. For his mother, ( _would his mother’s husband be impressed by the advanced magic he could do?_ ), for James and Sirius who had invested so much time into him, and for Remus ( _maybe he could actually be the one helping someone this time_ ).

~*~

_Could do better._

That was what he realized as he held his grief-stricken mother while staring at his father’s body.

Peter Pettigrew was fourteen years old.

Fourteen years old and not good enough. Good enough to permanently rescue his mother from being hurt by her husband, but not good enough to realize that losing that man would hurt her. He realized he didn’t understand.

He didn’t understand why she would cry for that man. Why she would mourn someone who had offered her nothing but pain. She had only stayed because she loved her son. He knew that much ( _how could anyone love someone like her husband?_ ). So why did she cry?

Maybe it was because she didn’t think it was Peter who had been strong enough to poison him ( _his hands shook so bad, he wanted to throw up, but it felt so good at the same time_ ) and that the cause of death was mere heart failure. 

If she was upset, he didn’t dare tell anyone else. Not James, not Sirius, not Remus. What if she somehow found out? Yes, Sirius could probably keep a secret, but Remus wasn’t as clever as he thought he was and James couldn’t keep a secret for the life of him.

He was the sneakiest of the four of them. He was the one who suggested making a map of the castle for keeping track of the Slytherins. After all, if they were going to attack the slimy snakes like James and Sirius wanted to ( _he would have murdered them if they’d asked, it wouldn’t have been that hard with the right potion and he’d gotten rid of someone already, but he didn’t want to risk one of them being upset over a death_ ), they needed the best way to plot their course of action.

They stared at him for the longest time after hearing his idea. Remus started making a list of books they could consult. Sirius whooped and began ransacking his trunk in search of the perfect piece of parchment to use. James called him a genius.

They thought he was a genius.

It would take a lot of time and work to create, but he would be the key to its creation. James was too busy trying to convince Lily Evans to go to Hogsmeade with him ( _that girl was scary, not to mention friends with a snake, but James was convinced it was Snivellus’ fault_ ). Sirius was distracted by whatever older girl came in sight ( _why girls?_ ). Remus had the full moon wreaking havoc on his health ( _they would succeed_ ).

He was the one who had the energy to devote to the project. He was the one nobody noticed. He was the one who overheard the Slytherins when they plotted against them ( _The Marauders. They were more than just roommates or friends, they were The Marauders._ ) and would warn the others.

Maybe he wasn’t the best with the actual fighting, but he could give them encouragement and let them know they were noticed and appreciated for their efforts ( _his fellow Marauders deserved it_ ). He could be their ace in the shadows. He was the one who could keep them safe now.

Peter would try to do better. For his mother, for the Marauders, he would be the best he could be. He’d never let them down.

~*~

_Could do better._

That’s what he realized his teachers thought of him.

Peter Pettigrew was fifteen years old.

Fifteen years old and not good enough. Good enough to get the grades for a Ministry career, but not good enough to get the grades to pursue a career in Potions or Herbology. It was then he realized.

He realized that his greatest works could never be shown. His talents were only impressive as long as others had no idea. It was only when something great had been orchestrated and people were looking for who to applaud that they would possibly see that none of what had happened would have been possible without him.

They had succeeded in becoming animagi. Of course, they wouldn’t register, wouldn’t risk people trying to find out why they had done such a thing.

James and Sirius had large enough forms to stop a werewolf from hurting himself while not getting killed. He was tiny. He wouldn’t even make a good snack for a wolf. But maybe that was a good thing?

It was the moment when he darted under the lashing blows of the Whomping Willow and pressed the knot to freeze the branches that he realized he truly loved his Marauders. They had given him a gift he could never repay. A realization of his worth as a genius of more than just theory.

Sure, he had to ride on the back of either the stag or the grim whenever they ran with the werewolf, but they couldn’t get to the werewolf without him. They couldn’t save Remus without him. Even if he didn’t look as impressive as any of them did, without him they were nothing.

It was the best feeling ever when Remus came into the dorm room in utter confusion without the addition of bruises and contusions he usually gained. When Remus tentatively tried to confront them about the scents he remembered without giving away what he thought was a secret and James couldn’t keep his mouth shut and the three animagi found themselves being embraced by an emotionally overwrought werewolf, he knew he had found his calling.

And now that the Map had been completed? The Slytherin scum stood no chance against the might of the Marauders. 

And they deserved it.

All those snakes, sneering down at the rest of the school. Thinking they were the elites. They reminded him so strongly of his mother’s husband ( _that man didn’t deserve the recognition of being called his father_ ). James and Sirius, Prongs and Padfoot, would put them in their place so effortlessly. Remus, Moony, was Prefect and would make sure none of them got into real trouble with the professors. And no one, no one, thought he ( _maybe they could have given him a better name than Wormtail_ ) was ever the true culprit.

The others were happy to let the charade continue. They showed their strength by being directly in the spotlight. His showed only when someone was clever enough to look past their show.

Few ever were.

Snivellus certainly wasn’t one of them. The scum was too fixed on James to realize what a threat he could be. When the Evans girl left the snake dangling helplessly at their mercy, he instantly realized what a good thing it was for his friend.

He might not understand why anyone would want a romantic relationship with anyone ( _why give them so much power over you, let them break you and leave you crawling back for more_ ), but James wanted Evans so Evans he would have.

Peter would do better. For James, he would watch that girl, make sure she didn’t hurt him, and if she dared to become an obstacle to his well being, he would just have to kill her.

~*~

_Could do better._

That’s what he realized when he woke up from the potion Snivellus had drugged him with.

Peter Pettigew was sixteen years old. 

Sixteen years old and not good enough. Good enough to gain an O on his Potions OWL, but not good enough to realize the scum had drugged him. He realized he had underestimated the snakes.

Yes, Peter had realized Sirius had made a stupid mistake in trying to send Snivellus to meet Remus on a full moon, but he’d thought the three animagi should have been able to come up with a plan to terrify the Slytherin while keeping Remus a secret. If only they’d been able to hex the greasy git while he attempted to gain access they could have successfully terrified him away from every trying to uncover their biggest secret. 

And if the poor little snake had been unable to escape the branches of the Willow? It could hardly have been their fault.

But Dumbledore…

He should have done more.

He should have protected Remus better.

He should have ensured Sirius had a safe place to go to ( _he had recognized the haunted look in Padfoot’s eyes when Remus had asked how vacation had gone_ ).

He should have made Snivellus unable to so much as think a negative thought about them. 

Couldn’t he see that leaving things as they were would only leave them with an enemy waiting for the right moment to strike?

He knew only too well how easily a potion could find its way into an unsuspecting victim’s food and drink. He knew the snake was more than a match for him when it came to using a wand.

But the headmaster did nothing. Nothing useful. 

Peter would do better. He would find a way to protect his Marauders, even if no one else would.

~*~

_Could do better._

That was what the rest of the Marauders claimed to realize when he brought a girl to their group date.

Peter Pettigrew was seventeen years old.

Seventeen and not good enough. Good enough to balance running a side business in smuggling items from Hogsmeade to resell so he’d have extra funds to send to his mother, but not good enough to ask out a girl who would meet the standard his Marauders had set.

He didn’t even know what the standard was.

James had finally managed to convince Evans ( _Lily_ ) to go out with him, Sirius was with some Ravenclaw with massive breasts that probably weren’t even all real, and Remus had brought along one of the other Gryffindor girls. He’d brought along a quiet Hufflepuff who hadn’t looked like she would expect a… relationship… from him.

It wasn’t like he had any interest in anyone like James did, wasn’t overly impressed with vapid giggly blobs of strategically placed fat like Sirius was, and there weren’t any other older unattached females in Gryffindor to go along with him. A Ravenclaw wouldn’t have recognized his genius ( _he was a genius, James had said so_ ), Slytherins were unthinkable, so that left Hufflepuff.

But apparently she wasn’t good enough for him.

Really though, he did appreciate that his Marauders cared for him enough to show concern over who was worthy of his time. It was that he just wasn’t interested and for whatever reason they didn’t seem to understand that ( _though he wondered sometimes if Remus might have an idea. He’d seen the way the werewolf shied away from dating and the two of them had commiserated over the behaviour of the rest of their friends_ ).

And trying for any sort of relationship took time. Time that he didn’t have. They were going to be graduating this year and there was a war going on outside. James and Sirius would obviously be throwing themselves into the thick of things, and there was no way Remus would leave them behind so it fell on him to be the one to ensure they’d always get home safely.

Dumbledore was leading “The Light” while You-Know-Who led “The Dark”. The headmaster might claim to be the one who knew best, but how could he be really trusted after what had happened the previous year? If Snivellus could get away with what had happened at school without appropriate safeguards being put in place, it was almost guaranteed that anyone who claimed they wanted to join “The Light” would immediately be accepted without being properly investigated to discover if they were actually loyal or just a spy.

You-Know-Who would want a spy. A spy, as he knew full well, could be the difference between life and death. He wasn’t good enough to recognize if someone could be trusted with his Marauders’ safety. He was so much better at being the spy.

Maybe… Maybe there was a way he could keep them safe?

Peter would do better. Not at finding a girlfriend, but at keeping his mother and his Marauders safe.

~*~

_Could do better._

That was what he considered as he stared down at the tattoo branded on his forearm.

Peter Pettigrew was eighteen years old.

Eighteen and quite possibly in over his head. It made sense logically, but he wasn’t completely sure of it would play out practically.

The Marauders had been invited to join Dumbledore’s group and of course his friends had leaped at the chance. James wanted to prove his skill and make a safe world for his friends and fiancee. Sirius wanted to prove he wasn’t evil ( _but did being Dark really mean someone was evil? He’d done things that might be considered Dark, but he wasn’t evil_ ). Remus wanted to thank the headmaster for letting him attend Hogwarts.

Dumbledore sent Remus off alone.

He split the Marauders ( _there was no concern for their safety. Dumbledore was failing his Marauders. The headmaster wasn’t letting them stay together. Was he trying to get them killed?_ ).

It was being split that allowed the Death Eaters to capture him.

He’d never been the strong one for duelling. Always the one doing the hiding, the sneaking, the preparing, the spying. Even James or Sirius wouldn’t have been able to stand against the Dark Lord when face to face with those red eyes.

But he survived.

The Dark Lord had been merciful to him. Given him an opportunity to protect his Marauders in their futile fight. Had offered assistance in looking after his mother who still pined over the loss of her husband.

What did he care about the others?

It was his mother who had loved him and given him the strength to kill the one who had hurt him. It was James who had first recognized his genius. It was Remus who had proved he was capable of protecting someone. It was Sirius who had truly opened his eyes to the realization that only he truly cared for the Marauders.

If they fought against the Dark Lord they would die. It was as simple as that. But if he spied? He would be able to guarantee their safety. He would keep them from falling prey to the Death Eaters or the headmaster’s useless schemes. 

He just had to do his job perfectly.

Peter would do better. He would keep them all alive, and none of them would know it was him.

~*~

_Could do better._

He realized it as he fled down the sewers in his rat form.

Peter Pettigrew was twenty one years old.

Twenty one years old and not good enough. Good enough to never be suspected as a spy, but not good enough to save James.

James was dead.

James was dead.

Sirius hated him.

Sirius hated him because James was dead.

It had gone wrong ( _oh, so very wrong_ ).

James was dead, Sirius hated him, and if anyone else found out what happened they would hate him too.

They shouldn’t hate him. They just didn’t understand. It was completely incomprehensible that a mere baby should destroy the Dark Lord. It had only been a matter of time before the war was ended and they would all be safe.

Now they never would.

But he wouldn’t let Sirius kill him. He knew Padfoot still loved him, still saw him as one of the Marauders. He would have to stop his friend from making that mistake. 

It only took a quick blasting curse to knock Sirius off his feet ( _so what if he’d planned to use that area as a place to ambush an enemy, Sirius wasn't an enemy, this way was fine_ ), a cutting curse to fake his own death, and a swift transformation to escape into the sewers. Maybe Sirius wouldn’t even notice it and would think he’d suicided?

There was no point in trying to go back to society now. They wouldn’t understand. Even if they did, could he really live without the Marauders being complete? And would they protect him from the Death Eaters? Those snakes might think that he’d planned the downfall of the Dark Lord and seek revenge.

Being a rat was an easier choice. It kept him from being overwhelmed with emotions and meant he didn’t have to care about anything.

It would be even easier if he didn’t have to scavenge food from the sewers.

But did he have another option?

He thought it over while sneaking into Diagon Alley. No one would expect him to go there. They’d all think he was running away.

He nearly transformed back out of pure shock when he saw the Daily Prophet proclaiming Sirius as being the Dark Lord’s right hand and being sent to Azkaban for murdering a bunch of muggles while being pursued by the noble and courageous Peter.

There was even a suggestion of giving an Order of Merlin to him posthumously. His mother would love that. Evidence that he’d done better. 

So staying as a rat was still the best choice.

But if he didn’t have to stay in hiding from the Wizarding World, why not live as a rat in one of their homes? Of course he couldn’t hide in a pet store, they would discover him while inspecting to make sure he was suitable for sale, so he would have to find another alternative.

A wizarding family who would love a pet, but wouldn’t get one from the store. Why would they want a pet? Because they had children, most likely. Why wouldn’t they go to the store? Perhaps they couldn’t afford to.

Peter would do better. He had failed James and Sirius hated him, but he’d redeemed himself for his mother and for Remus. He would be the perfect pet now. 

And he knew just the family to join.

~*~

_Could do better._

He realized too late.

Peter Pettigrew was thirty seven.

Thirty seven years old and not good enough. Good enough to recognize enough of James in Harry to hesitate to kill him, but not good enough to recognize the treachery of the Dark Lord that was now killing him.

He had failed.

His mother was dead, dead thanks to the grief of losing him. James was dead, killed by the Dark Lord who had offered his safety. Sirius was dead, killed by his own cousin. Remus would be dead too soon. There was no way the Dark Lord could be defeated and he wouldn’t be there to guarantee Moony’s survival.

He had thought he was a genius, strong enough to protect people, good enough to save his friends, but his father had been right all along.

_He could have done better._


End file.
